


Sinister Obsession

by Jenshih_Blue



Series: Abaddon - Queen of Hell [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 08:46:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenshih_Blue/pseuds/Jenshih_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After her first taste of Dean in “Accursed” Abaddon becomes obsessed with his possession, but one thing stands in her way…Castiel. Self-appointed guardian angel, he’s hidden Dean away in the warded bunker. There is only one way she can get to Dean and she takes pleasure in infiltrating the one place Castiel cannot protect him. Or can he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sinister Obsession

Obsession can be a deadly creature. Far deadlier than anything Hell or Heaven might offer. Both angels and demons believed themselves above such petty human concepts, but they were no more immune than the humans they tormented with their existence.

Abaddon knew this better than most and although she’d watched many of her brethren fall to such things she had stepped into the same ring of fire. There were days it came close to driving her mad, yet she turned her anger outward punishing her followers for the most minor of infractions. Her particular obsession had begun with a glimpse into the tarnished soul of a human hunter. A man created to house an archangel and who denied that self-same archangel. The tales she’d heard in whispers among the lower echelons of Hell were difficult to believe, but then she’d gotten a taste of this mortal man.

In the dark world of the supernatural, the Winchesters were legendary. It had started with Azazel who’d manipulated Mary Campbell, a young woman in love and desperate to escape the world she’d been born and raised in, the world of hunters. She escaped, but not for long and her death at the hands of Azazel had sent her lover and husband down a path that had ended with the demon’s ultimate death who’d believed he was untouchable. The stupid son of a bitch had been careless. He’d underestimated the Winchester son created to house Lucifer in the ultimate final showdown. The love the two brothers had for one another was far greater than either Lucifer or his followers could have imagined. 

She’d underestimated them as well in her bid to correct Crowley’s desecration of Hell. And then everything had gone ass over apples. The Winchesters hadn’t followed through with their plans though because the elder refused to allow the youngest to sacrifice his life for the greater good. Dean’s love and loyalty to his brother Sam outshone any sense of rhyme or reason. Their plan scraped they’d witnessed the fall of the angels and Sam ended up on the shit end of the stick anyway. That was when Dean had done something he and those he cared for ended up paying for with the ultimate sacrifice.

It was as Dean burnt Kevin Tran’s remains Abaddon had moved in determined to draw him to her, but what she’d discovered wasn’t what she’d expected. To her utter horror, she’d discovered a man broken by the loss of a dear friend and his only family. Dean had lost everything and it seemed one of those things was his mind. He’d opened himself up to her thinking she’d come to kill him, perhaps put him out of his misery. What she’d done was begin a slow seduction of not only his soul, but his body as well. To her chagrin an uninvited guest had appeared, Castiel.

Taking her leave she’d began to formulate a plan that would give her access to Dean despite the interference of Castiel the Boy Wonder. Yes, he’d taken Dean away secreted him behind the warded walls of the accursed bunker of the departed Men of Letters, but she knew there had to be a way to acquire what she wanted.

***

Castiel was worried.

Of course, being worried had become a way of life for the angel who’d began his spiraling descent by lifting Dean Winchester from the depths of Perdition years before. When he’d gotten Dean back to the bunker he’d discovered there were certain truths Dean denied him. 

Dean was a mess, his mind devastated by the loss of not only Kevin, but also by the fact it had been his brother Sam, possessed by another angel nonetheless, who’d done the deed. Now so many things made more sense than before. Even when Dean had regained consciousness, he’d refused to speak and vanished into what had once been his safe haven. Instead, Castiel had to discover the truth in his own way by putting the pieces together.

Days had passed since he’d arrived after Abaddon’s unthinkable desecration of his friend. She’d seemed surprised at his arrival although, Dean himself was the one who prayed for his presence. Castiel had no idea why Abaddon would have any sexual interest in Dean considering the consequences, but it nauseated him. The entire idea of what she’d done to his friend while he was in such a state angered him. Dean was grieving and her sinister mind games had done nothing to ease his all-consuming guilt and grief.

He’d looked in on Dean a few times and what he witnessed caused an ache in his chest. Dean refused to clean himself and on the occasions he did sleep, he never slept on the bed, instead he lay curled in a fetal position on the cold, hard floor. This man he’d come to know as a friend and brother was broken leaving Castiel with no idea what to do.

***

Abaddon had sent an elite few of her most trusted demons in search of an answer. Long ago, she’d heard from Lucifer there was a fourth dimension connected to humans, a space where the human soul drifted as they slept. According to Lucifer this place was somewhere between Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory and if one had the skill they could track down the human they sought despite any warding that might hide them on the earthly plane. This place seemed the perfect answer to the conundrum she faced. The problem was how to reach it. Lucifer had been an archangel, a fallen one yes, but an angel nonetheless, but what if a demon was unable to access the space?

A week had passed when news arrive via a nervous demon by the name of Adriel. She arrived acting as if she’d pissed off Lucifer himself and Abaddon greeted her with annoyance until she discovered what the demon had found or rather what she’d stolen. It was something one did not take unless one was positive they could protect themselves…A Book of Shadows.

This wasn’t just any Book of Shadows though. It belonged to an ancient family of witches whose lineage traced back to the Witch of Endor…The creature that had been the source of Saul’s fall. 

Abaddon was thrilled beyond belief. If any scripture could help her find her way through the door into this unnamed dimension it would be this one. Theologians debated for centuries whether the Witch of Endor had actually raised the spirit of the prophet Samuel or if it had been smoke and mirrors. Abaddon knew the truth. She had been witness to the raising of the prophet’s spirit and it was then she realized how she could get to Dean. If only this book possessed a way for her to pass into the dream dimension, she knew she could draw him to her.

***

Lying on the floor of his room, back to the door, Dean knew Castiel was there. He could feel those intense blue eyes study him with fear and worry, yet he didn’t move. He didn’t deserve Castiel’s concern. He deserved nothing from anyone. The things he’d done were unforgivable and he was right where he belonged. Kevin was dead because of him and Sammy…

The moment Castiel left, he squeezed his eyes shut and curled tighter in on himself. If he could only fall into a deep sleep and never awake he might find peace not that he deserved it. All he wanted was it to end…the pain, the emptiness, and the anguish. Some part of him refused to give in though. When Castiel would come he’d leave food and water (which Dean accepted), but he never spoke. Perhaps, what he’d seen in that clearing had sickened and disturbed Castiel. Hell, it sickened and disturbed him. Why Abaddon had done what she did was a mystery to Dean. He’d hoped she was there to end his misery. Instead, she’d touched him in a way she’d had no right to and yet he’d allowed it. He’d lost himself in her wicked embrace praying he wouldn’t awake when it ended.

Tears seeped from beneath his lashes as he curled even tighter (if that were possible) and allowed his body to drift away on a dark fog of sleep.

***

He was standing in the storeroom again, but this time Sam wasn’t there. The sigil on the door the only sign anything had occurred in the room. A deafening silence surrounded him and the coppery tang of blood filled his mouth from when Sam (or rather the angel who inhabited him) had punched him. He felt caught in a vacuum, drifting in space about to suffocate. There was a moment when he thought he’d had this dream before and then something changed. He choked on his grief and a tinge of hope rose up in his gut. 

Kevin Tran walked in the door.

Sweet, young naïve Kevin was there as if nothing had happened. He looked exhausted as usual, dark smudges beneath his eyes, hair mussed, and dusty tome cradled in the crook of his arm. It was impossible, yet Dean wanted to believe it true so much.

“I think I might have found some…” he paused and looked up at Dean. “Are you okay? You’ve been acting weirder than Sam.”

Dean cleared his throat, hands shaking. “Sorry, I’m just tired…been a long couple of days.”

Kevin nodded in that absentminded way he had when focused on a problem and Dean’s heart came close to stopping. He wanted to think none of it had happened. That it had been a nightmare, but deep down he knew this was the nightmare. After all he’d witnessed Kevin’s death at the hands of whoever was possessing Sam. He’d tried his best to give Kevin an honorable send off, but Abaddon’s appearance had marred that. Dean’s gut twisted in a knot as he stepped back afraid if he accepted this vision he would never wake.

But isn’t that what you want? Simply fall asleep, never awaken, and the pain to end forever.

Dean clutched his head, sound of his own pulse deafening in his ears, and screamed. He screamed until his voice sounded like shale ground beneath the hooves of a horse. It was a lie. Everything was a lie and why shouldn’t it be? He’d lied to Sam. Taken away his right to a choice…Live or die. And why had he done it? Why had Dean Winchester given a lying bag of dicks the right to fuck with his brother and trick him into saying yes?

It was because he couldn’t live without him. Not in the literal sense though, he’d survived when Sam dove into the Cage taking their half-brother Adam with him. But that was the point. He’d survived, yet survival isn’t living. He’d hidden in the shadows of suburbia, tried to be a regular Joe, and in the end, he’d even fucked that up. Sam was his brother, best friend, and touchstone. Sam gave him purpose when nothing else did, he laughed at his stupid jokes, and accepted him for who he was warts and all. Sam loved him. Over the years, few people had ever loved Dean Winchester. Most of them were dead now. He understood, despite what some might say of John, his father had loved him in the only way he knew how. And then there had been Bobby, Ellen, and Jo. Sam was the last one left standing.

At least he had been and then Kevin had appeared in their lives. Dean thought of him as a necessity at first, but in time, he began to care about the kid. Because of them, his entire life ended up bulldozed. If they’d never stolen the demon tablet from Dick Roman, never broken the shell surrounding it, Kevin would have never activated as a prophet. In the end, he’d screwed the only two people he had left in his life. 

“Dean.” 

Kevin’s worried voice cut through the fog in his mind and he glanced up from the spot on the floor he’d been staring at for far too long. The second Kevin came into view he wished he hadn’t. Dean found himself staring into Kevin’s death tinged face, eyes gone, nothing left except cavernous black holes.

He started screaming again and this time he couldn’t stop.

***

Leaning back against the rim of the stone tub, Abaddon laughed, anguished screams of Dean Winchester echoing in her ears. Breaking him was going to be delicious. Having found the answer in the Book of Shadows to her question, she decided to start with a quick reminder of what he’d done. Sure, he hadn’t actually killed Kevin, but that was a simple technicality. His actions had led to the prophet’s demise. If there was one thing, Abaddon knew it was how a demon came to be born. Every decision a human soul made had consequences and the darker the decision the quicker the birth. 

Abaddon stood from the warm tub, rivulets of crimson trailing down her nude body. Yes, she knew how a demon was born especially one such as she and the path to Lucifer’s side was for her painted in gallons of innocent blood. It was true some demons forgot who they’d been, but Abaddon never forgot and soon neither would Dean.

***

Standing outside the dungeon Dean had told him about, Castiel stared at the huge metal doors. He smelled the son of bitch, sensed the blackness trapped within, and wondered why Dean had ever thought this was a good idea. Of course, if Dean had killed Crowley then he wouldn’t have someone to turn to in an attempt to understand what Abaddon had done.

From behind the door, he heard an all too familiar voice.

“So are you going to stand about all day?”

Castiel took a deep breath and stepped forward pushing the door open as he did. The place was swathed in darkness the only light from the corridor behind him. The light fell across the cold concrete, his shadow stretching out in its center to meet the table placed in the center of the devil’s trap painted on the floor. Behind the table, Crowley sat chained to a chair looking bored out of his mind until he realized who had opened the door.

“Well, bloody hell, look what the cat dragged in.” his mouth curved in a smirk. 

Crossing the room, Castiel toed the edge of the devil’s trap, eyes never leaving Crowley. “I suggest you shut your mouth and listen for a change.” 

Eyebrow quirking, Crowley snorted. “And why would I care what a former angel would have to say? Oh, yes, love, I know all about your little detour to save Heaven. As a matter of fact I know everything about your love affair with that greasy weasel Metatron.”

“Look again, Crowley.” Castiel growled.

The demon’s eyes widened in surprise, “Got your feather juice back…oh, wait. Seems like you’ve been a bad boy, Castiel, considering that isn’t yours. Have you been stealing the other angels’ lunch money?”

“I did what I had to do.”

“As we all do.”

Castiel felt heat rise in his cheeks. “I need your help.”

All the humor drained from Crowley’s expression as he leaned forward. “Prophet’s dead…Isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“What of your dear Winchesters, Castiel?”

“Dean is here.”

Crowley lifted one eyebrow, “And Moose? Where would he have gotten off to?”

Castiel’s gaze dropped to the floor.

“Don’t tell me.” Crowley snorted. “He’s the one who dispensed of my prophet. I should have known. Sasquatch wasn’t himself…could smell it on him.”

“What did you sense?” Castiel demanded eyes taking on a silver sheen, power rising to the surface.

Panic flickered in Crowley’s eyes as he lifted his chained hands. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, love. I could tell something was riding him hard. No demon though and wasn’t like any feather duster I’d smelled either.”

Castiel turned away, palms scrubbing across his face. He’d known Dean wasn’t telling him everything yet he hadn’t questioned his actions. Whoever the angel impersonating Ezekiel he hadn’t simply healed Sam, he’d possessed him and Castiel couldn’t see Sam agreeing to that in any situation. After everything the young man had suffered through in the past few years, there was no way he would have given his permission in a clear state of mind.

He blamed himself. Had he not ran off on the brothers in some desperate attempt to save Heaven, yet again, perhaps he could have done something for Sam. His failures were continuing to pile up, surrounding him one brick at a time and he was beginning to believe there was no end in…

A terrified scream echoed through the bunker, not one, but one after another. The short hairs stood up along the back of his neck and arms. He hadn’t heard anything even close to this on Earth, but he had in the depths of Hell. 

“What the bloody hell is that?” Crowley yelled over the echo.

Castiel spun to face him eyes flashing as he used the power inside him to shatter the chains binding Crowley and then he broke the devil’s trap. Eyes still afire with power, Castiel looked straight through Crowley.

“Come with me, now!”

In a flurry of wings, his power engulfed them both. Crowley let out a surprised yelp before they both vanished leaving the room bathed in darkness once more.

***

“What a voice.”

Dean stopped screaming, his voice giving out under the strain of his horror and guilt. He was terrified to open his eyes for if he did what would he witness. Would he once more look into the burned out openings of his dead friend’s eyes? 

“Open your eyes, Dean.”

The voice was both soft and demanding. He didn’t want to see the truth of what he’d caused…A rotating storm of death and destruction plaguing him since he was four. Everyone he loved dead lost to him forever, no hope of salvation. The suffering was more than he could bear. He wanted to lash out and destroy those things that had cursed him with this destiny. A destiny he’d wanted no part of in this life. 

A gentle touch to the crown of his bent head eased the tremors traveling through his muscles, sense of peace, and belonging descending on him. Then lips soft as rose petals brushed his tear streaked cheek with a kiss reminding him of distant memories of a mother faded to a misty image.

“Open your eyes and look at me, Dean.”

Dean felt compelled to lift his head to look into the eyes of the person speaking to him. Nothing evil could touch another human with such gentleness and kindness he tried to convince himself even though he knew better.

He’d been right.

Kneeling in front of him was Abaddon, hair flowing around her shoulders in a cloud of fire, and body cloaked in a sheer blood red gown leaving little to the imagination. He could see the rounded shadow of a firm breast, slender waist, and the swell of a perfect hip. Between her thighs, faint suggestion of hidden pleasures and Dean wanted to run, lash out, yet her scent was intoxicating. Just its presence made him drunk beyond anything he’d ever experienced.

“What do you want from me?” he pleaded, eyes squeezed shut.

“Nothing.” she whispered.

Dean started to laugh, rocking back and forth hysteria settling in. “Nothing? You’re a fucking demon and demons make deals. Of course, you want something.”

“If I did say I wanted something what would you do?” her voice slid across his skin in folds of silk.

His eyes opened and he stared straight into her obsidian gaze. “I’d tell you to fuck off.”

Abaddon glided to her feet, head thrown back as she laughed crimson lips parted. 

“What’s so damned funny you, bitch?”

Laughter going silent, she glanced down at him with a lustful smile. “You still do not get it do you?” she reached down one slender hand grasping his throat and yanked him to his feet. “I want you, Dean. From the moment I laid eyes on you I wanted to possess you, consume you, and make you mine.”

“Then kill me and get it over with.” He choked out as she pushed him into the wall. “Don’t have anything left back there.”

She cocked her head to the side, eyes shining like raven feathers. “Why would I kill something as exquisite as you? I said I wanted you…the real you.”

There it was Abaddon thought. The flash of darkness she’d seen all those weeks ago in his eyes. It was more exquisite than the most expensive chocolate, more alluring than the desire to break an innocent soul, and she wanted to taste more of it. Dean seemed oblivious to the bitter sweetness of his inner demon or perhaps it was because he’d stuffed it down so deep he hoped it would never show its foul presence again. Either way it was surfacing and it was the most extraordinary thing she’d witnessed in her existence. 

“This is the real me.” He mumbled uncertainty in every word.

Her mouth tipping in a vague semblance of a smile, Abaddon glided back, hand releasing its death grip on Dean’s throat just enough he could breathe proper again. Her fingers glided down his throat, nails leaving crimson lines of blood beading up like miniature Christmas lights on a string.

“Are you sure?”

Dean clenched his jaw against the sting of her nails, eyes narrowed, and nerves pulsing beneath pale skin. He wanted to lash out again. Rip her black eyes from their sockets, but he couldn’t…Or maybe he wouldn’t. Everything was a mess inside his head.

Her hand continued down tracing the curve of his collarbone beneath the worn cotton of the tee shirt he wore. The Winchesters believed they knew everything about demons few hunters did though. The biggest mystery was how they chose their targets. Demons were much like birds of prey gliding through the ether in search of those weak enough to fall to their wicked touch. Their senses honed to perfection whether it be the sound of desperation or the scent of addiction. This was why demons didn’t need permission as angels did. The invitation was already there lingering in the scent of those who they possessed.

Abaddon could smell it all on him, rich and fragrant. And although she was unable to enter due to the damnable tattoo he possessed she could still get what she wanted. There were backdoors to damnation just as there were ones to salvation.

***

When Castiel alit on the floor of Dean’s room, Crowley in tow, he knew immediately what was happening. Lying on the floor, curled inward, Dean screamed and moaned, tears streaking his pale face.

Even Crowley knew. “Bloody hell, bitch has popped herself into his skull.”

Castiel knelt down, one hand caressing the sweat dampened hair along Dean’s temple. Crowley was right no matter how much he hated to admit it. What he’d witnessed in the clearing upon his arrival had nauseated him. But what he’d told Dean before Kevin’s death at the hands of the lying angel had been right in every sense of the word. When he’d chose to steal another’s grace he’d fallen even further, become the very thing he’d always fought against…A barbarian. He should embrace the darkness inside him. He should have embraced it long ago, but when he’d laid eyes on Dean’s soul, the one the heavenly host sent him to retrieve from Alastair’s clutches, he’d experienced something he never understood.

“Why would that she-bitch have any interest?”

Snapping back from his distant thoughts, Castiel glanced up at Crowley. “Because of what I saw when I pulled him from Hell.”

Crowley lifted one eyebrow. “And what would that be my wee angel?”

“The demon he’d become.”

***

Abaddon could feel that ball of feathers pushing his way through into the dream world and she had to wonder if perhaps Castiel were as obsessed with the human as she. It wouldn’t be the first time an angel had tarnished its feathers with human desire. There had been many over her time in Hell who’d chose to defile God’s favored with what they’d considered petty human emotions. It was how Azazel discovered himself chosen for the job of lifting their father from the cage. Although, to be honest, Abaddon always found it distasteful that Azazel called Lucifer his father because he’d been created by God, a brother to Lucifer before his fall.

But then to each his own she thought. It mattered not since Azazel had gotten his ass obliterated by the man who stood before her now on shaky legs. Her eyes shifted to human and softened.

“I want you, Dean.” She whispered lowering to the ground. “I want you as you are…doesn’t that please you? Isn’t that all you’ve wanted? To be loved and accepted for whom you are.”

Dean swallowed hard enough she could see his Adam’s apple threaten to explode from the skin holding it in place. She smiled. It was obvious he was fighting with the tsunami of guilt, desire, and self-hatred rising in his soul. The darkness she sought was winning slow, but sure. Fingers tracing along the curve of his ribs, her power holding him against the wall just enough he wouldn’t slide down, she pushed his tee shirt up baring his stomach. Abaddon leaned forward crimson lips pressed against the dark trail leading down into the waistband of his jeans.

As she drew back, she could feel the thick hardness of his erection straining against his fly and she flicked her tongue out to move along the rigid heat. Dean moaned. It was as if he were trapped somewhere between despair and desire. He wanted so much to accept her touch and the darkness it pulled free from the depths of his tattered soul.

With one finger, she popped the button at his waist and then with a gentleness no demon should be able to show, she slid the zipper down releasing him. A part of Dean wanted to push her away, but the darkest part of his soul wanted what she was offering, screamed for it so loud what little light remained was eclipsed. His grief and failure as a human burned in his gut. His soul released from that agony would be a relief.

Her touch set him on fire. Her long, slender fingers curled around him and slid in a slow seductive stroke from base to tip seizing every nerve in an immoral embrace. Dean banged his head back against the wall as her lips parted and she took the head of his cock into her mouth, innocent schoolgirl sucking a Tootsie Pop, tongue teasing beneath the rim. He’d never felt this free before. There was no good, evil, or thought of consequences. There was nothing except pleasure…mind-bending, endless pleasure.

Abaddon knew she had him the moment her tongue tasted his flesh. The sounds he made urged on her exploration. She swallowed more of his length, eyes shining like polished coal beneath lush lashes, her teeth scraping against the sensitive length and the heat of his desire rising to burn her tongue. She’d learned her craft as a human, but had honed it in Hell. It wouldn’t have mattered if Dean had been a girl she was an expert at devouring pussy as well, but she preferred cock. Now one might believe she did so for the more obvious reasons, yet they would be wrong. A cock reminded her of a weapon, one she could easily manipulate to take down her enemy. Her hands slid up his legs to the top of his jeans and she yanked down with brutality leaving Dean naked from the waist down. 

Men were so fucking predictable.

Reaching between his trembling thighs, she cupped his balls in her palm, nails grazing the delicate skin and a sob escaped Dean. This was what he wanted. It was what he’d begged for from the beginning with those damned eyes of him. Yes, the desire for the pain was buried deeper than most humans were capable of, but it was there whispering in his ear every hour of every day. Once she’d finished fondling him, leaving faint scratches, she released her grip and slid her hand back further. When her fingers found their target, Dean’s hips surged forward, and she swallowed hard before pulling back. He slipped from between her lips with a faint pop.

“Please…” he whimpered.

Glancing up at his flushed face, Abaddon licked her lips. “You taste good, pretty boy, but what I want to know is if Alastair ever fucked you.” 

She punctuated her words with an upward thrust of her hand, single finger penetrating Dean and he screamed, body jerking. He came so hard he thought his body would fly apart from the vibrations. Tears spilled down his cheeks and he wished he could forget her words. What did she know of Alastair? His time with Hell’s king of torture was something he didn’t want to recall. He’d buried so damn deep he never believed it would surface again, yet Abaddon had drawn it out with ease.

“Or did he deny you his sinful cock?” she mused.

Her finger wiggled deeper finding that singularity that had his spent cock twitching painfully in attempt to release more fluid. In his mind, memories of Alastair’s heinous touch rose and he remembered…God save him he remembered it all with crystal clarity. His body torn apart repeatedly by Alastair’s probing thickness until…

“Stop it!”

Abaddon rolled her eyes gliding to her feet with the grace of a dancer. Wiping the corner of mouth with a single finger, she released Dean and he slid to the floor sobbing as she turned away.

“This is getting to be a thorn in my side, these unexpected visits when I am clearly busy.” She eyed Castiel and then noted he was not alone. “Oh, you’ve brought me dessert…How very Martha-fucking-Stewart of you, my dear.”

Crowley shuffled further behind Castiel as he approached Abaddon, silver fire in his eyes. “Crowley is mine.” He growled, “As is Dean.” 

She glanced over to where Dean was huddled in the corner trying his damnedest to cover his shame. A faint smile glided across her lips. “I beg to differ.”

“My mark is on his soul.”

Turning her attention back to Castiel, Abaddon snorted. “Is it?”

Castiel’s brow furrowed. “Yes. It has been on him since the moment I lifted it from Perdition.”

“Oh, how I do love the old names.” Her laughter was the roar of hellfire. “Do tell me, Castiel, how you presume to claim what Hell claimed long ago?”

“Hell had no power to claim him.”

She snorted again, inspecting her blood stained nails. She really did need a manicure. “From what I understand he sold his soul for the resurrection of his beloved brother.” Lifting her head her cold gaze settled on Crowley. “Am I misunderstanding how that worked, dearest? After all you are the king of the crossroads…are you not?”

That was it as far as Crowley was concerned. He’d had enough of this brash twat. Knight of Hell or not he was going to plant his expensive designer loafer between her ass cheeks. He took a step forward and discovered himself clotheslined by Castiel hard enough to hit the ground on his ass.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” he snapped.

“I'm saving your demonic skin from being eliminated.”

Crowley lifted himself from the floor, dusting the seat of his pants off and snarled at Castiel. “Last time I checked I was bloody King of Hell. And although your concern sends tingles to my manly bits…”

“I suggest you listen to feather breeches.” Abaddon purred. 

“Sod off!” he snapped.

Abaddon was right in front of him, hand wrapped around his throat, cutting off his air. “Oh, dear you say such sweet things.” She pushed Crowley backward and the air shimmered before he vanished. 

“You’ve become more powerful.” Castiel observed.

She polished her nails along the sheer fabric of her gown. “I’d forgotten how observant angels are when they’re not trying to decimate my kind.” She glanced up eyes going black as pitch. “Why is this human so important to you?”

“Why should I answer any question you ask?”

Laughing she turned back to where Dean had managed to get his pants back up and now huddled even closer to the wall, face pale as marble. “Good come back, Castiel. Dean belongs with me. You understand why better than anyone else does. Don’t you?”

“He was never meant for your kind, Abaddon. By all rights, you should not even be here. If it were not for his grandfather you wouldn’t be.” 

Castiel eyed her with suspicion as they circled one another. He still could not quite understand the reason she seemed obsessed with Dean. Yes, both the Winchesters were special, but their time had gone. The Apocalypse was a moot point after Sam locked Lucifer and Michael away in the Cage. Castiel wondered if that might be the genesis of her obsession in part.

“Do you believe he will help you release your father?”

“Lucifer?” she lifted one eyebrow with a chuckle. “There is no way in or out of Hell I would even consider opening that particular door. Lucifer might be my father, but he was a fool, always was as far as I’m concerned. If not for him Crowley your little weasel friend would have never taken over Hell in the first damn place.”

She approached Castiel, eyes shifting back to their human appearance. Castiel stood his ground. As long as her attentions focused on him, Dean was out of her line of fire. Lifting one hand she smiled at him and traced the collar of his shirt with one blood red nail, eyes sparkling in amusement.

“As a matter of fact I’ve heard from some your sticky little hands were involved in that as well. Now that is something I would have loved to witness…An angel and a crossroads demon taking over Hell together.” She slid her hand up the side of his face, fingers tangling in his hair. “Is it true? Did you deal with the wee red-eyed bastard?”

“This isn’t about me or what I may have done.” Castiel hissed as her grip tightened. “This is about your need to stalk and molest my friend in his dreams.”

To Abaddon’s surprise, she found herself at the shiny end of an angel sword, tip biting into the soft flesh beneath her chin. Her smile widened. Castiel’s cold blue gaze never left her face as the corner of his mouth tipped in a half-smile. 

“You do realize that will not do you any good in this place. You can’t kill me here.”

Castiel smiled wide. “Perhaps not, but it can do this.”

The sword shot up through Abaddon’s head. The last thing Castiel heard was her curses as the dream form she’d taken dissipated in a swirl of black smoke, leaving Castiel alone with Dean. Dropping the sword, he crossed the room to where Dean sat shaking like a leaf eyes focused on the floor. He knelt and reached out, fingertips urging Dean’s head up until their eyes met.

“Why?” Dean whispered voice whiskey rough from his ordeal.

Castiel tipped his head in that curious way he had as if he were trying to see into Dean’s soul. It reminded Dean of the first time they’d met all those years ago in the barn before he believed such a thing as an angel existed. 

“Why what?” his eyes shone with a questioning light.

“Why save me from her?”

He cupped Dean’s face in his palm and leaned forward studying his eyes for what seemed forever, but was a mere few seconds. Then he spoke, voice gentle and filled with sadness.

“I have failed you too many times. I refuse to do so again.”

Dean blinked back the tears rising again in his eyes, crystalline drops caught in the web of his lashes. It amazed him, the resilience of his friend. Yes, he had become his friend and although Dean had been disappointed by Castiel’s choices in the past, he’d never truly felt as if he’d failed him. If anything, Dean believed he’d failed him repeatedly. It wasn’t as if he understood what it meant to be human. He wasn’t human until…

“Cas, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not understanding before…I’m so fucking sorry.”

Castiel pulled Dean into his embrace, his wings engulfing them both for one bright moment and pressed a kiss on his friend’s brow. “There is no place for regrets now. We must return and we must mend you, find your brother, and heal my home.”

“Heaven?” Dean asked.

“No, Earth.”

With the whispered flutter of wings, they both vanished leaving the illusion to melt away.

***

Abaddon was furious.

No fury was probably a hundred levels below what she felt right now. 

She’d had no idea those blasted swords could disrupt spells. It had taken a great deal of preparation to find her way into Dean Winchester’s nightmares and she wasn’t about to let Castiel or his demonic sidekick Crowley get the best of her. She stood staring down at The Book of Shadows, its pages dappled with the blood of the latest victim of her anger.

The Book had said nothing of an angel sword’s ability to disrupt a visit to the dream world…if that were what the place was really. It was an odd feeling slipping through the ether and into a human’s dreams, but what was even stranger was the despite the angel blade not actually killing her it had left a mark. It crossed her mind this had been some annoying plan of the haloed heavenly man whore to keep track of her. 

Rubbing the spot beneath her chin her eyes narrowed when she sensed someone else in the room. You would think the black-eyed dimwits would have understood she was in no mood for their desperate attempts to garner her favors after she’d torn the last one’s throat out.

“Well, if you insist on lurking the least you could do is clean up that.” She tipped her head in the direction of the demon sprawled on the stone floor in a congealing pool of blood. “I tire of looking at the mess.”

When there was no answer, Abaddon turned her temper flaring, ready to kill yet another and stopped dead in her tracks. Standing in the doorway was an unfamiliar woman. She was slight of build dressed in rough woven robes and feet sandaled. Abaddon caught glimpses of caramel skin at her wrists, ankles, and throat beneath the hood of the robe.

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded.

The woman lifted her arms, slender fingers pushing back the hood to reveal lush waves of ebony hair and her lips curved in an amused smile. “Who the hell indeed…” 

Her voice sent chills down Abaddon’s spine as their eyes met. The woman’s eyes were solid white, no sign of pupil or iris, and that gaze reminded her of two others…Alastair and Lilith. 

“I believe you have something of mine Knight of Hell.” The stranger tipped her eerie gaze to where the Book of Shadows lay. “I would very much like you to return it.”

“Impossible.” Abaddon hissed.

The woman’s smile widened even further. “It has been far too long since the fates have chosen to see our paths intermingled…do you think not?”

Abaddon began to laugh. This had to be the best gift she’d ever received and to think one of those sniveling black-eyed creatures had brought them together after so very long. She crossed the room, hands settling on the smaller woman’s shoulders and squeezing them in a sign of camaraderie.

“After centuries, it pleases me to see you again in all your dark glory...Witch of Endor.”

“I sense you have found something you desire. Something powerful and dark, yet one of the Heavenly Host stands in your way. There was a time I recall nothing could stand in the way of Lucifer’s favored knight, but times have changed.”

She sighed, frustration etched in her expression, “Right on all accounts, sister. The world has been left to its own devices, the angels have fallen…”

The Witch glided across the floor to where the Book of Shadows awaited. She glance down at its bloodstained visage and released a soft breathe upon its leathery pages, the blood absorbed as if water on thirsty earth. “You shall have what you seek, Knight…or should I say Queen of Hell. Lucifer’s time has passed. He shall not rise again and every queen must have her king. Should she not?”

Lips curling in a wide smile, Abaddon giggled like a child. “Indeed, she should.”

“So, mote it be, my queen.”


End file.
